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Should I tell Liv about it too?
No. She’s not going to be able to do anything about it, and there’s no way they suspect her, so I’d be worrying her for nothing.
“Yes. All three of them know,” Iris confirms.
“Who else?”
“No one.”
The finality with which she says it unsettles me more than anything else, but I’m not sure why.
The intercom sounds then, and I feel like I can take a full breath for the first time in days.
“The boys are awake so I need to go feed them, and you three need to go.”
I stand and nod at the door to the garage.
I don’t want to be rude, but this is . . . it’s too much.
“If I’m gonna get arrested for something I didn’t do, then I’m at least going to spend as much time as I can with them.”
Eli launches himself at me, hugs me tight and murmurs against my shoulder.
“If anyone tries to arrest you, I’ll ruin them.”
“Thanks, bud,” I say, embarrassingly choked up. I pat his back and look at Beatrice and Iris. Both of them have soft smiles on their faces, but I see the hardness in their eyes.
It helps.
Knowing I’ve got them in my corner helps, and it reminds me that they do trust me, and I need to do the same.
“When this is all over and we figure out what’s really going on, you can be sure I’ll have all of your backs too.”
I nod at them and look down at Eli, but he steps back and spins around to walk away in a second flat.
I understand.
“We’ll keep you posted, but Gotcha has been quiet since Michael and Lyla’s accident. Let’s hope whoever they are, they need more time to figure out their next move.”
Iris’s steady, calm voice helps, it really does, but then Beatrice goes and puts me on edge again.
“I think the deposition will be next week. I’ll text you and your sisters as soon as the DA has given me a date and time.”
The way my stomach stiffens at that is maybe problematic.
Number five’s claim of self-defense is annoying more than anything to me. If I wasn’t confident that it’s total bullshit, then I’d probably feel differently, but I knew Jim too well. Now I’ll have to spend who knows how many hours talking about their relationship, about Jim’s temper, and in the worst-case scenario, I imagine bumping into my mother and having to suffer through her good-mother act without “getting too emotional”—her main critique of me.
My head is full of cotton as I climb up the stairs to the main floor of the brownstone and find the boys, sleepy and rubbing their eyes, walking down the stairs with Johnny holding their hands.
“Thanks, man.”
I can’t help but worry as I make sure the boys eat their salads, as I help clean up their soft cheeks once they’re done. I can’t let a custody battle break out, but I won’t really have any say there if a recording of Richard Cockerton accusing me of murder gets out.
It’s hard to accept that I’ll have to trust Eli to have my back, but that’s the only option I have right now. Telling my PI to investigate about a dozen very high-profile individuals would probably violate a dozen clauses in the contracts I signed when I became an Heir and then a Chair of the oldest secret society in our country.
When we’re finally seated and about to eat it hits me that it’s been a handful of hours since I’ve thought about Sunny.
A record since I met him only two days ago. And I hope that means I won’t be plagued by dreams of his lips from now on.
